


... If You Ain't Got No Regrets

by Devilc



Category: Friday Night Lights
Genre: Character of Color, Chromatic Character, Closeted Character, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-15
Updated: 2010-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-06 07:41:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devilc/pseuds/Devilc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim discovers that sometimes these new understandings have strings attached.</p>
            </blockquote>





	... If You Ain't Got No Regrets

**Author's Note:**

> Set some time after Season 2 ends.
> 
> Sequel to [No, You Really Haven't Lived Life Yet](http://archiveofourown.org/works/51283).
> 
> Title is a reference to the song "No Regrets" by the Von Bondies.
> 
> _You feel buried, you feel bored_  
> No one takes u seriously when ur 24  
> So shut off ur days  
> And turn on ur nights  
> 'cause the chance is for the taking  
> And the taking's right  
> No, you really haven't lived life yet  
> No, you really haven't lived life yet  
> If you ain't got no regrets.

"I won't say I'm sorry, 'cause I'm not, " Tim Riggins said as he grabbed Santiago's arm, pulling him in close just long enough to say the words before letting him go and merging back into the crowd of everybody else hustling to get to the next class.

Santiago leaned against his locker, rolled his eyes, and swore.

_Fuck Tim Riggins._

Um ... except he already had.

Except, not actually _fucked,_ fucked.

And that was the problem.

But _ shit_. He was overthinking this when what he really needed to do was hustle his own ass to class, because right now? He did not want to have to deal with Mrs. Taylor. She saw a lot. Too much, sometimes. And when she got an idea in her head, she did not let it go. And ... he really needed to get to Algebra. That's what he needed to do.

Right now.

Algebra.

(_shit._)

~oo(0)oo~

Riggins at least had the good sense to leave him alone in the weight room that afternoon.

Or maybe it was because Santiago shot him a _don't even think of stepping to me_ glare the instant Riggins moseyed in like he owned the place.

The rhythmic clackety-clack of the machines calmed him down. So did two hours of detailing cars at the dealership.

Manuel from parts teased him about Lyla when she stopped by, asking about his romance with the boss's daughter.

Santiago started to say something about how he thought of her a sister, but Manuel would never buy that. Instead he said, "I know better than to shit where I eat."

~oo(0)oo~

Apparently the glare that had made people turn and walk the other direction in Juvie didn't work on Riggins. Or, at least not long enough to stop him from knocking on Buddy's door about 9 that night and asking if he could come in.

And, it being Riggins, the guy who would be anchoring the Panthers' offense come September, Buddy said, "Come on in!" His voice boomed down the hall as he yammered on about the playbook, scouts, and the run and shoot offense.

Santiago had such an instant acid stomach he thought he might sick up in the wastebasket.

Buddy hung out in the doorway for a long, painful moment as Santiago and Tim eyed each other, then jerked suddenly as if someone had goosed him and mumbled something about leaving them to talk "panther to panther."

Tim shut the door, leaning against it, arms crossed, looking at his feet, before pushing off with a buck of his hips that, damn it, made Santiago shiver inside. Tim stood, looking down at Santiago, face framed by his stringy, too-long hair and spoke, voice barely audible, "Look, I came to say ...." His voice trailed off and he swallowed hard, voice rasping when he spoke again, "You -- you're not, you know, another notch on the bed post or something."

"Then what am I?" Santiago hissed back, acid like a knife in his heart.

Tim blinked at that, clearly not what he had expected.. He sat down, hard, next to Santiago, jouncing him. "Sorry," he muttered. Tim scrubbed his hands through his hair a few times before he finally said, "You're _you_."

In spite of it all, Santiago had to bite back a laugh. _You're you_. Classic Riggins. "Yeah," he replied, "and you're you, the puto, and I was dumb enough to --" he snapped his mouth shut, clenching his teeth against the words.

"Puto?" Tim shook his head, mulling the word over. "Okay, then. It's a little harsh, but I'm okay with it." Pause. "Obviously."

Closing his eyes, Santiago counted to ten. "Yeah, but _I'm_ not okay with it. Do you have any idea what would happen if people found out --"

"Yeah, I think I do," Tim cut in.

"Really?! Because I -- _oh_...."

Tim nodded.

The room grew so quiet Santiago heard the clock ticking on the desk next to his bed. Finally he asked, "So ... who?"

"What do you mean _who_?" Tim shot back in a hissing whisper.

Santiago felt his mouth just sag open. "And you just ...?"

Tim turned his head aside. "Yeah."

Santiago whistled long and low. "Holy shit."

"I still like girls," Tim murmured. "So don't think --"

"I didn't." Then. "So, what now?"

Tim gave him look that was part "are you crazy?" and "have you heard a damn thing I've said?" He stood up and paced, brushing at the front of his ratty jeans. "I don't know!" He threw his arms up in the air. "I just came to say that I don't have any regrets. I hadn't ever --and you wanted to -- and ... it is what it is." His voice dropped back to a whisper. "I like getting laid. I like it a lot, man. I just try not to make it any more complicated than that.

"So," he cleared his throat "if you want to -- again --you know where to find me. That's what."

He walked out, shutting the door behind him before Santiago could answer.

A few minutes later, Buddy rapped on the door. "Everything okay in there? Everything okay between you two?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. Thanks."

~oo(0)oo~

Santiago tumbled Tim's words over in his mind as he took a Tums, FOILed his way through a page of equations, wrote his parents a postcard, brushed his teeth and climbed into bed.

The casualness of the words versus the way Tim's voice sounded when he said them. Versus the _look _in his eyes.

It's not that Tim had "no regrets" about this. No, he had "the joneses."

Santiago wondered if Tim even realized how much Tim wanted what he wanted.

Part of Santiago screamed "Stop. Don't do it! You'll regret it!"

Part of him shouted that hell yeah, he should get laid because opportunities like this didn't happen every day.

But the quiet voice said that if he didn't go for it, it was because he was a coward, a bigger coward than Tim Riggins, who dealt with most of life's issues by crawling into a bottle, but could deal with knowing _this_ thing about himself. The quiet voice said that if he didn't, he would regret it the rest of if his life, would chicken out the rest of his life, like if he had chickened out in that football game. (Buddy got that one totally right.)

No regrets?

Hardly.

This was absolutely going to have regrets in it somewhere along the way.

But, the way Santiago figured it, it was better to have regrets because you'd done something, than regret having not done it.

Regrets were like scars -- they showed that you had _lived_.

And, as he turned out the light and rolled over, Santiago knew that he wanted to live.

Even if it meant getting hurt along the way.


End file.
